Towering

in!”
    Imagination! Way too vivid, for sure. With one hand, I searched the nightstand for my earbuds, to muffle the sound. I couldn’t find them. In doing so, I knocked over a glass of water, soaking my bed and probably the earbuds I was looking for. I stood and walked across the room, searching for the light switch for the ceiling lamp.
    Across the hall, the banging continued, and the voice. “Let me in!”
    I crossed the hallway to Danielle’s room. I didn’t turn on the lights. I didn’t need to. The room was illuminated by a strange bluish-white light. As I entered, I heard glass breaking. I looked to the window.
    It was Danielle. She looked just as she had the first night I had arrived. But, this time, she didn’t wait for me. Instead, she reached through with one glowing hand, unlatched the window, opened it, and stepped through.
    “Whoah!” I said.
    She shook her head, then pressed her finger to her lips. She started toward me.
    Instinctively, I knew I must step aside, must follow her. Now, I would pursue wherever she went. I felt an icy chill as she passed, but maybe it was just the wind through the broken window.
    She went only to my own room. Once there, she surveyed the unkempt bed, the messy desk, the spilled water, until she found what she sought.
    Beside my bed was the plain brown bag from Hemingway’s. She slid her hand inside it and brought out the hairbrush. She ran her finger across the flower pattern, as if to make certain it was the right brush.
    Then, she began to take down her hair. It had been in a ponytail, but once down, it was very long, almost as long as Rachel’s hair, but dark instead of blonde.
    She brushed her hair. As she did, the hairbrush opened to reveal that it was, in fact, a box. Carefully, she held it up, then turned it over.
    Out fell an object. She tried to catch it in her hand, but it tumbled onto the floor.
    From her glow, I could see that it was a key.
    I leaned to pick it up.
    She handed me the hairbrush and motioned that I should replace the key inside it.
    I did and closed the box. She watched as I attempted, unsuccessfully, to open it. It wouldn’t budge. She took it from my hand, brushed her hair, and repeated the process, then handed it back to me. I closed it and placed it on my nightstand.
    She started to walk away.
    “Wait!” I said. “What’s it for?”
    She didn’t answer, which was maddening. I knew she could speak. I’d heard her screaming just moments before. But she merely continued to walk away.
    “Wait!” I said.
    Again, she pressed fingers to lips. “Shh, you’ll wake my mother again.”
    “But . . .”
    She shrugged and continued out the door.
    Blackness began to swirl around me. I didn’t, couldn’t pursue her. I was suddenly so tired, more tired than I had ever been before. I fell to the bed and didn’t even see her cross the threshold of my room.
    In the morning, I woke comfortably tucked into bed. I looked at the nightstand. It was dry, and my earbuds were where they belonged. The hairbrush wasn’t there.
    I checked the hallway for Mrs. Greenwood. No sign of her.
    Slowly, careful not to make a sound, I crossed the hallway to Danielle’s room.
    Had I expected to see broken glass? A mess where snow had made its way in? I wasn’t sure. In any case, I didn’t see any of it. I peered out the window.
    In the circle of lamplight, I could see that footprints dotted the doorstep. I couldn’t tell where they started, but they definitely ended at the door.
    Had Danielle returned last night?
    Or was it someone else?
    Again, checking carefully, I traversed the hall. I spied the Hemingway’s bag on the floor. I reached inside.
    The brush was there, as it had been last night in my dream . . . vision . . . visitation. I drew it out, as Danielle had then. I tried to open it.
    It didn’t work.
    I drew it through my own hair. Nothing. Still, when I shook the brush, I could hear the key rattling inside.
    I gasped.
    I understood. I thought. Rachel would be able to open the box by brushing her hair. That’s what Danielle had been telling me.
    I took the brush with me.
    It was cold even inside the house, so I put on a sweater, grabbed my coat and gloves, and went downstairs.
    Mrs. Greenwood’s car keys weren’t where I’d left them. Strange. I finally found them, then left a note for her, saying I’d gone skiing.
    I thought about calling Rachel before I left, but it was too early. I’d see her later. And by then, I’d know about